Roaring Twenties
by eisceire
Summary: Deryn has not come back from foraging mission in the Russian wastes so Alek gives his parole to rescue the lad he admires and finds Deryn in a predicament beyond imagination.


**«» Roaring Twenties «»**

 **«» Dalekweek Refugee from Deviantart «»**

 **o0O¥O0o A/N o0O¥O0o**

 _ **Seems that we have an active plagiarist on Fan Fic Net robbing off fic from Deviantart net. I've a crop of fics on Devi. They're all done as story-per-day; some for Dalekweek & some not but all done with a superfast pen & no sense of sanity. They're getting posted over here as a safeguard; so any of my Lev Fics on Devi pre twenty-fifteen are likely gonna be repeats of Fan Fic Net. Just a hint in case you decide to visit me over there.**_

 **o0O¥O0o**

After all the anarchic alienation Alek had undergone these past weeks; he was, unbelievably, home once more. Captured by a sprig of a Darwinist middy, pressed into service as engineer to a beasty, coerced into playing nursemaid to a fabrication, tumbled into leadership of a revolution then volunteering to return to captivity the young noble had been coming to hate his aristocratic heritage. It had lost him his parents, muddied his dealings with Lilit and her family, denied him the freedom and adventure that fell naturally to his friend Dylan. Whatever about that, it had finally granted him his freedom to stalk thru these chilly, snowy forests on the hunt, almost as it had been on his father's estates. Crippled as she was by her encounter with Tesla cannon and, once again, in dire need of every hand the Leviathan could ill spare bodies to retrieve a mere middy missing on a mission .

Thus: the Captain was glad enough when Alek stepped up to venture a rescue, putting his honour on parole that he'd return to ship with or without Dylan ... or the lad's corpse. Alek couldn't deny the possibility; his world-view had bleakened considerably since the day he'd been spirited away from his dead father's castle. With new cynicism he reflected that, honour or no, the captain still held Volger and Bauer as hostages for his return and might, indeed, find it better if Alek vanished into the Russian wastes he was presently tracking thru. The burden of a boy wonder feted across the American press, of a political conundrum of uncertain status; that was ballast any Captain would willingly let drop.

Whatever about his musings, this was no managed social excursus on a regulated estate and no time at all for woolgathering; he'd never be a fraction of the soldier Dylan was but even he knew the snufflings and snortings coming from the clearing ahead could presage no good at all. He'd circled the space from every direction and nothing he'd read on the ground signalled good news. Here were small, light, studded bootprints that surely were Dylan's yet they were spaced wide apart, dug deep in at the toes with comet trails of snow ... hallmarks of a race to stay alive. Behind, close behind and even atop the bootprints, were large, vicious, clawed pugmarks of two or more savage beasts. The selfsame marks were to be found at every approach to the glade; not just was Alek denied any safe approach but Dylan must be sore beset with no glimmer of a way out a claws jabbing, stabbing, slashing at him from every side. Alek had the greatest of respect for the middy's speed, strength, stamina and suppleness but he'd have been ready to write Dylan's obituary on the spot if the continuing noises hadn't indicated that the struggle had yet to wend to an inevitable, gory ending.

Alek sighed, being a Clanker pilot taught you some unusual skills; he mightn't be anywhere near a middy's equal on the ratlines but there was clambering enough involved in boarding and servicing a walker that he didn't expect the trees hereabouts would present any challenge, though he fervently prayed that whatever creatures he was about to face were strictly earthbound. Striking out for one of the trees that threw several long branches out over the, as yet unseen, battleground; Alek shinned up and along his leafy ladder with as much alacrity as stealth would allow and it was nearly all for naught, as the shock of what he saw nearly made him cry aloud and topple from his perch.

Directly beneath where Alek lurked, amidst the bough's foliage, five, most enormous bears, in brindled hues, paced and capered. They lunged towards the vulnerably, slight figure of Dylan, who twisted and turned, every which way, at the outermost extent of the beasts' arms. He could see another five directly across the clearing from him. A glance to left and right showed five more to each side. Every, individual one of the five was up on its hindlegs and roaring aloud with a ferocity that echoed across the glade and made Alek's head ring; he could feel his perch shake from the sheer volume of sound and that was but the periphery.

Dylan was at the very heart of this vortex of violence; the lad's head had to be bursting; it was a miracle he was still on his feet, still resisting. It was all to plain that Alek had come on the scene only just in time to witness the coup de grace. Dylan's normally pale physique was flushed and red; sweat beaded on his skin, his hair clung, lankly, to his head and perspiration soaked his remaining clothes. Much of the middy's uniform lay discarded around the arena: cap and coat, goggles and gloves were gone; the sleeves had been torn off his shirt.

Alek frowned at the grim, drawn lines of exhaustion and pain he read on Dylan's face; the awkward, stumbling gait of a body at the limits of endurance and the sticks crossed on the ground at Deryn's feet. Alek could not even begin to imagine the effort it must have cost Dylan to stay upright in these straits.

But no more! With a wild cry Alek flung himself down from the safety of his perch to land in the circle of bears, back to back with Dylan.

Behind him Alek heard Dylan take a shuddering gulp of air before gasping out: "Alek help me"

"These dafties are the Roaring Twenties; they're a dancing bear troupe but I cannae get them to follow even the simplest sword dance."


End file.
